


Fireproof (I'll Be Yours, You'll Be Mine)

by itsacoup



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsacoup/pseuds/itsacoup
Summary: Soulmate (n) : the singular person that can survive the rigors of loving you.Geno catches fire. Sid is fireproof. It's love at first flame.





	Fireproof (I'll Be Yours, You'll Be Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> I am not going to apologize for the puns, bad flirting, or porn. Recommended listening is Coleman Hell's "Fireproof," obviously the inspiration for this fic. A thousand million thanks to hotcrosbuns for being a stalwart and excellent beta under the avalanche of writing I aim her way!

_Soulmate (n) : the singular person that can survive the rigors of loving you._

Nobody comes out of the womb with their limitation. It emerges at puberty, the final terrifying step towards adulthood that makes changing voices and uncertain hormones pale in comparison. Everybody’s limitation is all their own, though in the way of humans, there are categories and types and thousands of analyses of what each limitation means.

Geno doesn’t care so much about that side of it; over-analysis is the most unlikely sin for him to commit, to say the least. Instead he worries about the horror stories his mama used to tell him of the old country, how people would be forced together without being soulmates and how many died from trying to be together, of the other’s limitation or of their own internal sickness at attempting the unnatural. _You must listen to your soul,_ she told him as he gulped, wide-eyed, over the latest tale of horror. _Do not try and be with someone who is not yours; it ends only in sadness._

Some limitations aren’t so dangerous-- little quirks, verbal tics or careless habits-- and the worst they can do is drive another up the wall with irritation. Some limitations, though…

Geno dreams of fire, and one day, Geno wakes in fire.

\--------

Metalworking is mostly a hobby for Geno; the bakery brings in the dough, as it were, that allows him to play around in his forge. Usually it’s a place of quiet and solitude, only the crackle of fire and the ringing bell tones of working iron accompanying him. Today, though, the Arts District has opened its doors to guests in an art hop, the street filling with food vendors and the shops with special exhibits. Geno has a display of his favorite works meticulously set up inside the door of his studio where it’s bright enough to see in hopes of attracting a few customers. He lurks deeper within, starting the iron for another project as he idly waits for something to happen. He gets too absorbed in his work, as he always does, and time begins to sink away as he trades rods between the forge and the anvil.

“Whoop!” a voice calls out in surprise, and Geno turns too late, slow to react as he fights the strange zen of metalworking. His voice dies in his throat as he sees a man grasping the yellow-hot iron rod Geno had just been drawing, half-crouched from where he obviously caught the rod as it slipped from the lip of the forge.

“Drop it!” Geno barks when he finds his voice again, but already it’s too late; the man is going to lose his hand from holding metal that hot for so long, and maybe part of his arm.

“Uh… why?” the man asks, politely puzzled as he straightens. He delicately places the rod back into the forge and tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit it, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. Your art is so beautiful, I was distracted.”

“Your hand,” Geno says urgently as he steps around the anvil and towards the man. Even in his panic, Geno notices the bright hazel shade of the man’s eyes, the playful curl of his hair, the lush red bloom of his lips. “It’s burnt, I know you’re not feel it but it is. We have to get you to hospital, okay?”

The man’s mouth curves into a perfect, plush o, and then he blushes as bright as fire across the fat apples of his cheeks. “I, uh-- I’m fine,” he stutters, and he reluctantly withdraws his hand from his pocket as Geno motions desperately from a safe foot away. The man opens his palm to show Geno, and instead of being charred and blackened and stinking of ruined flesh, it’s healthy and pink across the broad palm.

“What?” Geno says dumbly, and he’s so surprised he nearly reaches out to touch the perfect, unmarred skin. He catches himself just in time, pulling his hands in and tucking them into his armpits to keep from doing it again.

“I’m, uh, you could say I’m fireproof,” the man says.

Geno is in love.

It’s suddenly unbearable that he doesn’t know this fireproof angel’s name, so Geno forces his thick and nervous tongue to move and say, “I’m Geno. You’re…?”

“Sid,” he says. Geno looks him up and down again, slow and appreciative, and Sid blushes harder but doesn’t move.

“Nice to meet,” Geno says. “Why you’re come to art hop? Like to touch hot metal all the time?”

Sid giggles, high-pitched and unrestrained, and Geno is _definitely_ in love. “I’m new to town, and it seemed like a great way to get out and meet some people,” he says. As if summoned by his words, a handful of people step into Geno’s studio behind Sid, cooing over the displays in the front. Geno steadfastly ignores them.

“You’re meet most important person now, don’t need to go to other studios,” Geno says. “Can stay here and catch things when I’m drop.”

“If you say so,” Sid says, twisting his head coyly, and of course that’s the moment that a customer absolutely _must_ know how much the flower candlesticks cost. It’s another fifteen minutes of increasingly curt answers before Geno can clear the shop, but finally it’s just him and Sid again.

“You’re fireproof, yes?” Geno asks abruptly, because he’s too afraid of what that means. “No fire ever hurt you?”

“It’s my limitation,” Sid says, half-warily. “That’s not all of it, but yeah, I don’t get burnt. Fire feels… kind of nice, actually.” It’s then that Geno notices Sid’s perched on the edge of the forge, brushing his hand through the white-hot coals at the bottom of the fire.

“I’m burn people if I’m touch,” Geno blurts, and Sid whips around to stare at him.

“You mean--” Sid says, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, maybe _can’t_ , as his mouth opens and closes like a dumbfounded fish.

Geno reaches out in response, letting the back of his hand grow nearer and nearer to Sid’s face. He can feel his skin itch and heat, and when his hand is but six inches from Sid it begins to flicker, flames running up his fingernails, along his tendons, and sinking into his wrist. They’re tiny red things, not the roaring fire they could be, but Sid still watches their dancing paths, mesmerized. He leans forward, and Geno hisses in warning as the flames jump and shade more towards orange and yellow as they heat from Sid’s proximity. That doesn’t stop Sid, and Geno fists his hands in nervous fear as Sid’s eyelids sink closed and his lips purse.

Sid's lips don't crackle or burn or bubble with the fierceness of Geno's skin. The fire parts around them, and Geno reels as he _touches_ for the first time in an age. Sid's kiss is a brand upon his hand, a glowing, roaring fire separate from Geno's own.

“Fuck,” Geno gasps, and Sid leans back to smile sweetly up at him. Sid stands-- this close, Geno realizes Sid’s just tall enough to tuck neatly under his chin-- and curves his hands around Geno’s fist. The fires jump and spread up Geno’s arm as Sid gently pulls at Geno’s fingers to unwind them from their creaking, tense shape and wind them together with Sid’s fingers.

There’s still two hours left of the art hop, but Geno is _done._ An extra sale isn’t worth delaying another second, and his limbs tremble with the burning under his skin where Sid touches him. He can’t even gather together the words to explain to Sid what he’s doing, but they’re soulmates-- they’re _soulmates_ \-- so surely he’ll understand.

Geno doesn’t let go of Sid’s hand for even a second as he begins to douse the forge and clean up his tools; Sid doesn’t seem to mind. He grips tighter as Geno wanders a little further from him, only relaxing when they are nearly side-to-side again. Every inch of Geno has erupted in dancing flames, enough that he can see the heat-shimmer in the air around him. He’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get his ass in gear, and he elects to leave more of a mess than his usual admittedly less-than-tidy clutter in order to get the hell out before he ends up stripping his soulmate naked in his own forge.

Geno turns to face Sid. He can see the red glow of his skin reflected in Sid’s eyes, how it brings out the gold amongst the hazel, and he’s in love.

“Wanna get out of here?” Geno says, and it’s close to a growl, the crackle of flames biting through his throat.

“And go where?” Sid asks breathlessly, eyes wide. Geno gapes for a second, completely taken aback-- is he going to have to say _do you want to go back to my place for some coffee, and I don’t drink coffee_ ? Does Sid _really_ not get that the first thing you should do after meeting your soulmate is have wild, hot (literally, in this case) sex? The universe may have made a grave mistake-- but Sid dissolves into a string of high-pitched giggles, bursts of gleeful sound rising like bubbles in the ocean and popping, one after another. Geno scowls a little before reluctantly joining in; of course he’d end up with a prankster, given his own penchant for being a sore loser. The universe apparently doesn’t make mistakes, but it is kind of an asshole like that.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Sid says when he calms himself. His tongue curls around the _o_ in _sorry_ in a way that Geno has never heard before. Now he wants to hear it a thousand times again, memorize the shape and heft of the sound until he can never imagine any other way of saying the word.

“So mean to soulmate!” Geno scolds, slipping a little closer to Sid, until he can see the tips of his flames split and splay out against Sid’s skin. “Universe give you gift, this is how you say thanks?”

“I can say thanks another way, if you’d like,” Sid says, and in a second he slips from stunned naïveté to coy seduction. “Keep trying until I say it well enough for you.”

“Eh,” Geno says, the syllable dragging on as his brain comes to a crashing halt and frantically attempts to restart. “That’s. Yes. Okay. It’s good.”

Sid’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he’s probably laughing at Geno again. “Okay,” Sid agrees. “So we’re going to get out of here. Where are we going once we’re out?”

“My place, it’s just few blocks away,” Geno says. There isn’t _too_ much in the way of experimental breads and pastries strewn about his personal kitchen-- he really should experiment in the bakery, but a whole staircase is too far to go when inspiration strikes-- but what there is will make for a nice midnight snack if they ever make it out of Geno’s bed.

He’s not planning on it.

Geno said _let’s go_ but somehow, they’re still standing in the forge. He’s distracted by how high the fire grows on his skin; the flames can dance all they want but they won’t burn anything other than people, yet still he feels hot enough to heat all the metal around him white-hot. The rich hazel of Sid’s eyes distracts Geno again as he sinks into study, trying to find every shade of green and gold within, and he has to close his own eyes for a long moment to refocus. “Right, my place,” he remembers. “Let’s go.”

“Gonna lead me there with your eyes closed the whole time?” Sid teases.

“We’re never leave if I'm still look at you,” Geno says, carefully shuffling his way through the forge half on memory and half on trusting the single hand thrust before him at hip-height. “Stand here, stare forever, until starve to death, very tragic.” He’s interrupted by something that jabs into his thigh and he hisses, stumbling to a stop.

“Are you okay?” Sidney asks, and Geno opens his eyes at a tug of his hand. Sidney is looping around to kneel in front of him, as if he can see how badly Geno is hurt through his jeans, with one hand still occupied.

Geno tugs him up; they really _will_ be here forever if Sid starts touching him underneath his clothes. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he insists. “Guess I’m keep my eyes open now. You promise not to distract me, though!”

“I promise,” Sidney says, half on a laugh and smiling.

“No, no,” Geno says, tugging at Sidney’s hand. “Can’t look at me like that, too distract.”

“I don’t know how else to look at you,” Sidney says. Oh, _fuck_. Suddenly the need to get to a private place wins out over the desire to stare at Sid until he memorizes every curve, from his eyebrows to his smile to his chin to his ass.

“Let’s go,” Geno says, dragging Sid to the door and hastily locking it before power-walking down the middle of the street. His bakery is just about a half mile away, at the other end of the Arts District, but it’s a half mile too far, and he’s considering breaking out into a run when Sid squeezes his hand.

“Slow down!” Sid says, tugging at Geno’s hand. “I don’t have ridiculously long legs like you do!”

“Walk faster,” Geno says. Every inch of skin itches with flames and the need to be alone with Sid, but Sid laughs at his impatience as if it’s a joke. Briefly, Geno’s tunnel vision dissipates enough that he can see the wary looks from the others enjoying the festival, the radius of empty space around them despite the packed crowd.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t mind being on fire forever if it means touching Sid.

“Mama, that man is on fire!” A small girl says, clearly alarmed as she points at Geno. Her mother hushes her, too little too late, and Geno smiles at her.

“I’m on fire with love,” he says, and her eyes grow round as they sweep past her.

Geno can faintly hear her ask her mother, “Will I catch on fire too when I fall in love?!” but sadly, he misses the mother’s response.

“She’s going to have a complex because of you,” Sid says, but he’s amused. Apparently Geno’s assholery does it for him, which is a relief.

“It’s good for her,” he says breezily. “Show her the power of love, you know?”

“I don’t understand how anyone is simultaneously so dickish and so romantic,” Sid grouses.

“But you like it,” Geno says, and against his will it wavers into a question.

Sid squeezes his hand again, breaks into a jog so he can be even with Geno rather than dragged along in his wake. “Yeah, I like it,” he says. “A lot.”

The last five minutes of the walk are silent between them, mostly because Geno’s smile is so wide that he can’t force so much as a word past it.

Geno has to tug Sid to a stop as he comes in front of the bakery. The door is locked-- Olli and Beau _and_ Seryozha were all too busy tonight to keep the bakery open for the hop, so he picked the forge over the bread-- and he fumbles with his keys.

“Uh, not that I don’t like bread, but why are we here?” Sid asks.

“Live upstairs,” Geno says, grunting with success as he finally manages to one-handedly isolate the correct key. “Bakery is how I’m make living, forge is just for fun.”

There’s a long pause as he unlocks the door, and then Sid says despondently, “I love bread.”

Geno spins to look at Sid, and he’s sniffing at the air and the omnipresent smell of flour and yeast with longing in his eyes. “You say that like it’s bad thing!” Geno says indignantly. “You get best bread forever now you're with me. And pastries and donuts and cakes, if you’re like those too.”

“I love them,” Sid says. “But eating nothing but carbs is not awesome for you, eh?”

Geno leans back to obviously look Sid up and down. “Think carbs have to try very hard to have any effect on you,” he says admiringly, and Sid flushes from his neck to his ears. “Too much worry! Once you eat my bread, never feel guilty because it’s too good.”

“Is eating your bread all you brought me here for?” Sid asks.

Geno swallows as he feels a new wave of heat break out across his skin, sparks dancing between them as the flames jump in excitement. Really shitty flirting _really_ does it for him, god save him.

“Come on, upstairs,” he says, because the only other option is ravaging Sid in front of the bay windows and in full view of the crowds outside.

They’re lucky they make it safely up the rickety, twisting wrought iron staircase that stands in the corner of the front shop and leads to Geno’s apartment. He spares a thought for the stairs as they creak alarmingly under the weight of two adults at the same time-- _I knew I should’ve fixed them up sooner_ \-- but it’s lost in the way Sid tucks their still-joined hands in the small of Geno’s back so they can stay connected as they ascend.

The kitchen is, as predicted, a small disaster, so Geno wastes no time in pulling them through to the living room and across to the bedroom. Jeffrey sits up as they pass him, snuffling in half-awake excitement, and Geno shushes him and closes the bedroom door behind them. He turns to Sid, excitement bubbling along his veins, and then remembers: Dixie. “Wait a second,” he says to Sid, who nods with a little puzzlement. Geno turns and throws himself onto the floor, looking under the bed and chirping, and Dixie looks back at him as she stretches insolently, settling back into her comfortable loaf under the far corner of the bed. “Oh, come on,” he says in Russian, exasperated. “You’ll get mad at how the bed bounces when we have sex, so just go now and let us have some peace!” He shuffles around the outside of the bed, Dixie watching him warily, and luckily he’s just a hair faster than her retreat. Geno shouts in victory as he drags her out, half-yowling in protest, and turns to triumphantly hold her up to Sid. “Got her!” Geno says, back in English, and Sid laughs, that same infectious, high-pitched rapid giggle that Geno could listen to for hours. “Can you get door?”

Sid obligingly opens the door, and Geno gently drops Dixie to the ground and shuts it before she can sneak back in. “Sorry,” he tells the door, and then turns back to Sid, waiting with a goofy grin.

“Is it safe now?” Sid teases. “Or is something else hiding in the closet that needs to be banished first?”

“No, that’s everything,” Geno says. “Dixie is good cat, but hates when bed bounces, likes to stare. Very rude.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I stare,” Sid says, flushing bright, and it’s still the clumsiest and most endearing flirting Geno has _ever_ seen.

“You can do anything, if you keep blushing like that,” Geno says feverently. “Best thing I’m ever see.”

Sid covers his face with his hands. “God, it’s embarrassing,” he mutters. “I’m so bad at this.”

“No,” Geno says firmly, stepping forward to wrap his hands around Sid’s wrists. They’re strong under his fingertips but slim enough that Geno’s fingers go all the way around and overlap themselves. He can feel the flutter of Sid’s pulse, and he gently pulls Sid’s hands away to reveal an even brighter blush. “You’re best. I’m _love_ , okay? You stare at me forever, it’s good. I’ll put on best show you ever see.”

“Oh God,” Sid says faintly. “Um. That sounds. Nice.”

“Nice?” Geno asks. He leans in to whisper in Sid’s ear. “Will be a lot more than nice, promise. I’m not bring you here just to eat my bread, but I’m butter you up for sure.” He pulls away-- it’s painful to let go of Sid, but this is worth it-- and kicks off his shoes, hopping on one foot and then the other to pull off his socks and fling them into a distant corner. Unsexy as even that is, Sid watches ravenously, flushed and entranced. Geno pulls his shirt off as slowly as he can bear, flames once smothered coming alive as he grabs the hem and drags it upwards, trying to twist seductively through the move. He nearly tangles himself in the neck hole, but an extra shimmy solves that, and he throws the shirt at Sid. It misses his face by an inch and drapes over his shoulder, but Sid is too busy gaping open-mouthed at Geno to care.  

Geno bends his head down to work at his belt, but apparently Sid has different plans. Sid sheds Geno's tee and steps close, until their bodies are separated only by the length of the flames springing from Geno’s body, to spread his palm out on Geno’s flank. Geno twitches a little, sensitive and nervous and still growing used to this strangeness of skin against his, but Sid flattens his hand, pushes until the contact is firm and reassuring. He smooths his other hand across Geno’s collar bone, brushing along the flames that play there and whipping them into a frantic dance. Geno watches, entranced, as Sid plays with the flames, dragging them into esoteric shapes and building the heat of Geno’s skin even higher. Sid’s other hand, still comforting against Geno’s side, feels cool, and a thought strikes Geno. “Sid,” he says, and Sid looks up curiously. Geno grabs Sid’s wrist again and pulls it away from Geno’s skin. Where it rested is a perfect handprint of skin amidst the flames, and Geno looks up to stare at Sidney, slack-jawed. He has a thought, and he turns his left hand over. Amid the flames on the back is a lip-print crowned by four finger-prints, wrapping through the spaces between his fingers, and his palm is almost entirely without flames.

“Flames are gone,” Geno says wonderingly, and then it really hits him that the _flames are gone_. He grabs Sid’s face between his hands, shaking it a little, and says again, “Sid, flames are gone! You touch me and flames go away!”

“Are you sure?” Sid asks, a little wide-eyed, and brushes his fingers against Geno’s sternum.

The flames don’t abate, and Geno growls, frustrated. “No, touch like you mean it!” he says, grabbing Sid’s hand and pulling it close.

Sid takes a shaky breath and blows it out. Slowly, he presses his hand to Geno’s sternum in a gesture both gentle and firm, a caress that learns the texture of Geno’s skin. In its wake the flames sit low and stagnant, banked coals rather than the inferno that rages everywhere else on Geno. Sid reverses, passing over the same skin again as goosebumps rise on Geno’s skin, and the flames are gone.

“Fuck,” Geno says feverently as Sid stares, a little dumbfounded, at the window of pale skin on Geno’s skin framed by flames. “ _Fuck_ , Sid, you--” He stumbles to a halt. There aren’t words for this.

“I think we’re still wearing too many clothes,” Sid says, and they’re the best words Geno has ever heard.

“Best,” he says, because that kind of forward thinking shouldn’t go unrewarded. It’s a mad scramble to strip from there, Geno fighting with his belt as Sid rips off his shoes and gets started on his own belt. He’s catching up to Geno with a vengeance, and they’re both down to underwear at almost exactly the same moment.

Geno pauses to look Sid up and down again; he’s just as built as that not-quite-tight-enough tee hinted at, and his boxer briefs leave just the right amount to the imagination-- for now.

It’s been an eternity since they’ve touched, Geno realizes, and he reaches out. Sid willingly meets him, grasping both of Geno’s offered hands and then drawing close to embrace. The line of his body presses tight to Geno’s, and Geno trembles at the sensation, touching another from neck to knee, propping his chin gently against the top of Sid’s head. His heart beats frantically in his chest as he leans against Sid, soaks in how they fit against each other. It’s only when Sid looks up at him that Geno realizes there’s a fog across his vision, his throat tightening around nothing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sid asks, half-alarmed, and starts to pull back.

“ _No,_ ” Geno snarls, clutching Sid close on instinct alone. He can’t give this up, he _can’t_ \--

“Geno,” Sid says, and it’s half worried and half warning. “You have to talk to me. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean I can read your mind.”

“Can’t touch anybody,” Geno chokes out. “Burn everyone who try, for _years_. Only can touch Jeffrey and Dixie, to pet, to sit with, because I’m not burn them. But no people, since I’m thirteen. Now I’m touch you, and it’s-- best feeling ever, I’m can’t even say, don’t know how, but-- please, never leave, okay? Stay always, here with me.” He chokes out _me_ on half a sob, followed by a second squeezed out by Sid’s suddenly fierce grip around his middle.

“Of course I’ll never leave you,” Sid says furiously. “God, why would I? You-- you make amazing metal art, and you bake, and you don’t care that I’m awful at flirting, and you’re the first thing I’ve been able to feel since I was fourteen. You’re my _soulmate_.”

Geno’s knees go a little weak, and Sid pushes them towards the bed as he wavers on his feet. They tumble backwards, sprawling across it, and Geno frames his hands on Sid’s face and draws him close.

They kiss.

It’s-- an explosion of sensation, overwhelming, sparkling through Geno’s nerves. The soft curve of Sid’s lips, the exploratory way he moves against Geno, the thrill as Sid sinks closer to Geno and deepens the kiss. It’s the most hedonistic thing Geno has probably ever experienced, and suddenly his entire body is crying for Sid, for relief, for this moment to go on forever without end.

Sid pulls away and Geno whines, unashamed. Sid relents, dipping back for a string of tiny kisses that Geno yearns after. Sid finally pulls too far away for Geno to follow, and Geno’s breath catches on a gasp as Sid drags his fingers down Geno’s neck. A frown creases the space between Sid’s eyes, and he leans in close-- but not the right kind of close for a kiss, Geno notices, disgruntled-- stroking his hand again and again. “What are you doing?” Geno asks, strained.

“Getting rid of the fire,” Sid says, in a voice that screams _duh_.

“Зач-- why?” Geno asks. His mind is a spinning, throbbing nerve of pure sensation. His tongue is leaden, his thoughts too scattered for sorting through words to find the right ones on the first try.

“You want me to, right?” Sid says, pausing. His hand wraps around the crest of Geno’s shoulder where it meets his neck, the heel of his palm resting snug against Geno’s collarbone.

“ _Yes_ ,” Geno says, because some tiny part of him is screaming that it’s the only answer that will get Sid to continue what he was doing. “But-- how you’re know?”

Sid shrugs. he slips his hand down Geno’s chest and thumbs over Geno’s nipple, and Geno shouts. “Lucky guess,” Sid says off-handedly.

“Si-id,” Geno whines, dragging it out, because his brain is melting but somehow this is really important. He’s not cognizant enough to know _why_ , but damned if he won’t chase down an answer.

Sid stops and looks at Geno, really _looks_ at him. His eyes seem darker from this distance-- though maybe his pupils are dilated-- and there’s sort of a softly sad shape around his mouth. “I haven’t felt a thing in years, until today,” he says. “But I could still hug my family, know they were there for me. I could play with my cousins, and hold the new babies, and-- well. We both benefit from this, eh? I get to feel something and you get to touch someone.”

“ _Eбать-копать_ ,” Geno breathes. He can’t argue with that. “Okay,” he adds weakly. “I’m-- I’m yours, if you’re mine. Make me fireproof.”

It’s the most exquisite torture. It seems almost as if Sid leaves a brand upon Geno’s skin with his hands, a tingling, cooling sensation that lingers as goosebumps rise in the wake of the motion. Geno feels dizzy, subsumed by the strange feeling of another’s touch. At once he wants to shy away and beg for more, until his entire existence is swallowed by the pressure of Sid on his skin and then he only wants-- _needs_ \-- more.

Sid is meticulous, completely focused on his task. He doesn’t leave behind even the tiniest lick of flame; every inch of skin is touched firmly and lovingly until it settles before Sid moves on to the next inch. He wraps a single, comforting hand around the back of Geno’s neck, until the only heat left is the flush of arousal. He straddles Geno’s hips and glides each hand down the shape of his shoulders, cupping the caps of his shoulders and cradling them for a long moment until the space between his fingers isn’t filled with fire. He sweeps across Geno’s chest, slow, brushing at Geno’s nipples until he whines. Sid courteously skirts the area beneath Geno’s briefs, and Geno suppresses a moment of hysteria over the thought of having only his dick on fire.

At some point, Geno whites out. All that is left is the warm-chill of Sid’s touch soothing at his skin, each inch a new discovery untouched by anyone but Geno for years. He just barely understands what the request is when he feels Sid’s hands nudging at his sides and hips lifting up. He flips, clumsy and half convinced he’s in a dream, and resettles face down. Sid’s hands start again, palms lining up on either side of Geno’s spine and slipping outwards. For half a second, Geno considers smothering himself in his pillow. It would be a kinder death than this, a thousand touches left unfulfilled until Geno perishes.

Somewhere in the small of Geno’s back, flirting and teasing the upper curve of his ass, Sid says absently, “Your sheets are very soft.” He freezes, and Geno does too, baffled. “I-- your sheets are _soft_ \--!”

Sid’s bulk still pins down his thighs, but that nor the half-trance he’s sunk into is enough to keep Geno from trying to twist to look at Sid. He gets an elbow underneath himself, blinking sparkling black dots out of his eyes as he looks at Sid, hand planted in the sheet as he stares wonderingly at it. “Good sheets, high thread count,” Geno says. “Only best for me means only best for you too.”

“Shit, Geno, I don’t-- how?” Sid stutters, pinching the sheet between his fingers and rubbing it together in fascination. “I told you, I can’t feel!”

“Same way you make flames stop, probably,” Geno says. Sid shifts, and the way the movement pulls at Geno reminds him of the fire-- both literal and figurative-- burning at his cock.

Sid is clearly only half-listening to Geno as he spreads his fingers across Geno’s back again, in an area he’s already cleared. “And-- even you feel different. I could feel you before, and it was better than anything I’ve felt in a long time, but _now_ \--”

Geno wants to give Sid as much time as he needs to explore this newly-awoken sense, he really _does_ , but the rest of him is wailing for relief. He grits out, “Sid, need focus, okay?”

“What?” Sid says, still staring in wonder at his hand fisted in the sheet.

Geno collapses dramatically, sighing into the bedspread. “I’m very happy for you, yes, but why you’re not test out touch by making fire go away?” It’s close to a whine, but he’s probably justified in that.

“Oh, yeah,” Sid says. He curls his hands around Geno’s ass, one spread across each cheek, and giggles to himself. His weight shifts up Geno’s thighs, and Geno twitches and squeaks as Sid presses a kiss against the crown of his ass and two on each of his ass cheeks through the fabric of his boxers.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a nice ass?” Sid asks.

“Yes, they tell me it’s on fire,” Geno says, and yelps as Sid pinches him right on the meatiest part. “What?! It’s true!”

“You are _awful_ ,” Sid says with relish. He follows the curve of Geno’s ass, dipping one hand to smooth across his perineum, and Geno groans into the mattress, twitching helplessly along with his dick.

“Sid, I need--” Geno says, half-crazed with lust.

Sid shushes him, withdraws his hand to settle both on the crease that joins ass and thigh. “It’s alright, you’ll be okay, I’m nearly done,” he says.

“So am I,” Geno mutters. “Nearly done for. Dead. Killed by soulmate.” Sid ignores him, refocused to his task. The trance state of before is gone; now, Sid winds Geno tighter with every motion of his hands, completely filthy and really just _cheating_ with the caresses that pass along Geno’s thighs and calves and ankles and feet. Sid certainly lingers over Geno’s ankle, and Geno has to fake a kick before Sid will move on. Next, he almost really _does_ kick Sid in the face thanks to the ticklish soles of his feet-- “Ticklish!” Geno yelps to get Sid to stop, and then double-takes to himself, because he didn’t know he was ticklish anymore until now-- but finally Sid sets down Geno’s right foot. Sid moves from right foot to left, and it takes a supreme act of will not to ask Sid to go in the other direction. Maybe next time Geno will educate Sid as to the inherent superiority of left foot first.

The second Sid releases Geno’s left foot, Geno’s wriggling to flip onto his back and face Sid. He’s met with a sight of debauchery: Sid, eyes dark, hair mussed, flushed halfway down his chest. Yet Geno’s eye is drawn further downward still, to where Sid’s cock fights to stand proudly against the constriction of his briefs.

“Off,” Geno says, plucking at the waistband of Sid’s briefs. Sid has to swing off of Geno to wiggle free from them, so Geno takes the opportunity to shed his own pair of boxers and relegate them to the far corner of the bedroom.

Sid drops his briefs neatly over the side of the bed and manages to turn to just the right angle that Geno can’t see _anything_ as he asks disapprovingly, “Do you really have to fling all your clothes so far away from you?”

“Can put back on, if it’s so bad,” Geno offers, leaning forward as if to stand, and Sid pins him down. He has to straddle Geno to achieve that, and _there’s_ the eyeful Geno was looking for. Sid’s cock is built much like the rest of him; not extraordinarily long, but round and thick in ways Geno couldn’t even imagine until faced with the delightful reality.

Geno would be lying if he said he hadn’t been day-dreaming about this moment for _years_. The thought of another’s touch upon him, hot like the fire that danced on his skin; the dreams of mutual pleasure, spiraling up into an earth-shaking orgasm; the fantasies of slow, sensuous lovemaking that devolves into fucking.

It’s nothing like that, and it’s _perfect_.

For starters, Sid is laughing at Geno. Geno pouts. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” Sid half-chokes. “But-- the fire-- it’s still in one place--”

“My dick on fire with need,” Geno says with as much dignity as he can manage, and Sid howls even louder. arms wrapping around his waist as he laughs and laughs. “Rude to laugh at dick, you know.”

That silences Sid into a shamefaced look. “I’m sorry--” he starts.

Geno waves him off. “I’m sure you think of better way to apologize,” he says, trying to adopt an expression of sly flirtation to cover the sudden spike of anxiety: _oh god this is really happening?? Finally? What if it isn’t good? What if I’m terrible? What if--_

Sid slides down onto Geno, bracing himself on his elbows to either side of Geno’s head and cupping the back of it with his hands. This time, the kiss arrives slowly, on a wave of anticipation riding across the touch of their bare skin on each other from chest to knee. the skin-to-skin contact ratchets up the intensity of the kiss another notch, and Geno sinks into the feeling of Sid against him. Geno spreads his palms against Sid’s back, stretches them wide. It’s nice now to touch in return, to not only accept what Sid gives him but also to give back.

Sid shifts, half-slipping off an elbow, and the movement grinds down their bodies. Geno freezes as Sid’s dick pushes against his own, and without warning, he’s right on the edge. Any thoughts of being suave or coordinated go out the window as he hitches his hips again, finding that same sweet, rough slide as he ruts against Sid.

Geno breathes out a curse at the same time Sid stutters, “F- _fuck_ , Geno.” Geno wraps his arms tighter around Sid’s back, until Sid’s chin is tucked over Geno’s shoulder. He has far better leverage than Sid does like this, and he puts it to good use, bracing his feet against the mattress to drive his hips against Sid’s. Sid breathes heavy directly into Geno’s ear, twisting as much as he can against Geno’s hip.

Geno works up into a good rhythm, and he’s close, too close, when Sid twists his head and sucks a kiss against the hollow below Geno’s ear. Geno comes with a shout, going limp all over as his vision whites out a little. The daze isn’t strong enough to wipe out the feeling of Sid moving against him, letting out low, breathy grunts in Geno’s ear, and soon Sid comes, stilling and letting all of his weight rest on Geno. He’s heavy, though, and Geno enjoys breathing, so he gives a gentle shove to tip them both over onto their sides. Sid curls into Geno, fastening one hand at the nape of Geno’s neck and draping the other over Geno’s back. Geno, emboldened, slings a leg over Sid’s hips to pull them closer still.

Sid sighs contentedly, eyes still closed. His face is close enough to Geno’s that Geno almost has to cross his eyes to see Sid’s nose. It’s a tempting target, and he leans forward the scant inch required to brush the tips of their noses together. Sid giggles again, that wild, free sound, and tips forward a little more so they rest cheek-to-cheek. Geno’s heart swells with love so much it threatens to burst, to pour out his throat in endless words, to always beat a little too fast to the rhythm of _Sid, Sid, Sid_.

He wants to say something, but there’s no words for this effervescent feeling. He tries to let his touch say it-- smoothing across Sid’s back and pressed against Sid’s front. It seems to rouse Sid from his daze, opening his eyes to smile at Geno, not seen but felt in the rounding of his cheek against Geno’s.

“Hey,” Sid says, a little goofy.

“Hi,” Geno says back, because what else could he say? “I love you,” he blurts. Well, he could say that, apparently.

“I love you too,” Sid says, slow and wondering and filled with conviction.

Geno pulls Sid close again, because-- what else can he do? They bask in the silence, in the togetherness, for a long moment.

“Do you think it’s permanent?” Sid finally wonders aloud. Geno can barely tell how Sid is watching with fascination as he scrubs his hand against the sheets behind Geno, runs his palm across the sparse hair on Geno’s chest, tests the sharp and jutting bones of Geno’s hip and knee.

Geno snorts. “You think I’m know any better than you?” he asks.

Sid pulls back enough that he can scowls up at Geno, and Geno smiles back as angelically as he can manage. “Don’t act like you’re not interested in the answer either.”

“Yes, I’m very interested. But won’t know until we know. Maybe it stay forever no matter what, maybe it go and we have to keep touch to make it stay.” Geno considers the second option; it actually doesn’t sound that bad. A built in excuse to beg Sid to touch him like he’s something precious and coveted? Yes, please and thank you.

Sid sighs, aggrieved. “But I want to know now!” he protests.

“Can’t give you answer now,” Geno says. A memory strikes him-- _I love bread_ \-- and he offers, “But can give you snack. Bread? Pastry?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sid says immediately, flailing to yank himself upright and almost taking Geno’s eye out with an errant elbow. They’re half stuck together at the waist by come, and they grimace in unison as skin pulls and finally comes unglued. Sid staggers upright and offers Geno a hand, levering him up with no small effort and a groan. Geno collapses forward onto Sid, draping himself over Sid’s front as Sid fruitlessly pushes at him.

“So tired,” Geno whines. “Can’t move. Have to carry me to kitchen, Sid.”

“We’re going to starve to death in here, then,” Sid declares before relenting. “Okay, ready? On three. One, two, three--aah!” Geno moves on two, surprising a yell out of Sid, and they stumble across the bedroom, through the door, and into the kitchen, an eight-limbed monster giggling wildly. Dixie gives them a look of disdain from her windowsill and Jeffrey wags his tail, ever hopeful for the bites of human food that Geno so often guiltily gives him.

“What’s this?” Sid asks, leaning over a tray of tarts on the island.

“Berry tarts, but filling is more like cheesecake,” Geno says.  

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sid says and immediately shoves a whole one in his mouth. It’s a blessing he doesn’t choke on the crumbs as he moans indulgently.

“Sounds like you like that pastry more than you like me,” Geno says, only half teasing. Sid gives him an indecipherable look, mouth still full, and Geno says, “I’m get you glass of milk.”

Sid manages to swallow the tart while Geno pours the glass of milk, and he drains the milk in a few gulps. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says as soon as he can talk. “Do I need to take you back to bed and teach you better?”

“Yes, _please,_ ” Geno says with relish, even as Sid flushes at his own audacity.

Sid rises to the challenge, though, jutting his chin out and grabbing Geno by the arm to tug him back through the kitchen. “Okay, let’s go,” he says, and Geno barely manages to snag a tart of his own before they march out of reach. Dixie’s making inroads on the bedroom, so Geno closes the door with a snap and an apology as he brushes the crumbs of the tart from his face.

Sid pulls him down to the bed, and they lie on their sides again, facing each other. Geno isn’t quite sure he’s ready for another round-- the heart is willing, but the flesh is weak-- but his mind changes as Sid lays a soft hand on his chest. They explore each other, much less deliberate and methodical than Sid’s earlier fire extinguishing, until enough blood stirs in Geno to lift his cock.

Sid trails a hand down Geno’s chest and past his navel, and Geno turns to watch. There are a few errant flames still flickering on his cock that bring a soft glow to Sid’s hand as it curls around. Geno pants as Sid smooths away the flames, starting up a soft, loose rhythm. Geno looks back up, into the dark and wild depths of Sid’s eyes, and returns the gesture, wrapping his hand around Sid’s cock and reveling in the feel of velvety skin and pure desire under his fingertips. Sid jerks, letting out a whine, and then presses closer, until their hands bump against each other and their stomachs. Sid dips in for a kiss, taking two or three, and then pulls away, gaze fuzzy and distant.

“Sid?” Geno checks.

Sid focuses back in on Geno’s face with visible effort. “It’s just-- a lot,” he says. “You-- I can _feel_ you, I can feel your hand squeeze and your breaths against my chest and-- I--” Geno squeezes Sid’s cock, mostly involuntarily, and Sid gives out a little sob, eyes shining. “Don’t stop,” he says, as if Geno would even consider it.

This time, it’s a soft crawl up to that precipice instead of a wild, heady sprint. Sid curls close against Geno, loathe to let their bodies grow apart. Sid comes before Geno this time, trembling, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Geno kisses them away before wrapping his own hand over Sid’s and getting himself off.

Geno rolls them out of the wet spot and yanks at the sheet until he can get it over the both of them. Sid is already passed out, tucked close still, one hand slung over Geno’s back and a knee pushed between both of Geno’s. He curls a hand around the back of Sid’s head and settles in for a nap, falling asleep to the sight of the last fires of the sunset dripping down his bedroom wall and dying out.

The fire in Geno has found its match, and for the first time, he feels unlimited.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, if you're wondering, Sid is _definitely_ a firefighter in this universe.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://itsacoup.tumblr.com)!


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